Behind the Scars
by Mickis
Summary: The guys end up discussing their war wounds and how they got them. One shot


**Disclaimer: **Would you look at that? I _still _don't own the ninja turtles. Oh well, one can only dream.

**A/N:** _Kinda short and pointless. Just another plot that wouldn't go away until I wrote it down- so I did. And please, if you do decide to read this, please leave a review before you head on out. Okay? Enjoy!_

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**Behind the Scars**

by

Mickis

**Genre: **General

**Language:** English

**Rating: **PG

**Summary**: _The guys end up discussing their war wounds - and how they got them. (One shot)_

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The rain was coming down hard on the people that, for whatever reason, rushed the streets of Manhattan, most of them keeping an umbrella above their head to protect themselves from the cold rain. Although, unbeknownst to them, was that the space _beneath_ the streets was taking the storm the hardest. The water was flooding the many tunnels of the NYC sewer system, even drowning a few unwanted rats in the process.

However, if you took a certain left turn at one tunnel, keeping a straight path for a few minutes and managed a few more turns in the right direction, you would find yourself in a very dry subway station and, more importantly, highly extraordinary. For in these abandoned tunnels hid an entire family of mutants. They were forced to live out there lives underground - for obvious reasons - where their presence was hidden from the narrow-minded people of the city.

Leonardo, the oldest brother out of the four mutant turtles, kicked back on the couch with a good book in his grip, enjoying the process of digesting his dinner in peace. He could faintly hear his siblings in the kitchen subcar but decided to pay them no attention, even though a part of him was a little curious about what they were doing in there - without him. But, being the person that he was, Leo ignored that small part of him, pretending it wasn't even there in the first place, and focused intently on page eighty-seven in his book.

Then as Splinter, his sensei and father figure, who just happened to be a giant, walking, talking rat, stepped out from the kitchen and sat down in the chair across from him, with a slightly amused look on his face, the curious part of the blue masked turtle suddenly grew stronger. He peeked up from behind his book, his eyes carefully studying the old rat as he reached over for the remote on the coffee table, pretending he wasn't aware of his son's spying eyes.

Splinter casually leaned back in his scruffy chair and aimed with the remote at the TV set, flicking onto the discovery channel, intrigued as he watched a couple of beetles keeping themselves busy with rolling up huge balls of elephant feces.

Leo faintly paid the screen any attention, keeping his eyes locked on his old mentor where he sat, while the enthusiastic voices of his brother's echoed from inside the kitchen. The turtle finally concluded that the unspoken question had polluted the air in their living room long enough and decided to approach his father.

Putting down his book, he properly sat himself up and focused his eyes on the rat. "What's going on in there?"

Splinter casually turned around to meet his son's gaze, a look of mild puzzlement plastered on his features. "What do you mean, Leonardo?" he asked, as politely as ever.

"Well," Leo said, sticking his thumb inside the book as he folded it together. "They've been in there since dinner. What are they talking about, Master?"

"Scars," the rat answered shortly, returning to stare at the TV.

"Scars?" Leonardo repeated, a slightly lost look on his face.

"Yes," Splinter confirmed, turning back to his student with a nod. "I believe they are comparing scars with each other." He quickly turned back to the television, deciding to himself that he'd had enough of turd collecting beetles and flipped over to the cooking channel for some decent early night TV.

Leo only shrugged his shoulders, a little taken aback by his father's answer, but soon got control of himself again and opened up his book to continued where he left off. However, after having read the same sentence twelve times without remembering a single word in it, Leonardo realized he was still stuck on the whole scar issue.

He glanced down at his arms, detecting several scars of his own and recalled the events that printed them there. His master had trained them well in the art of ninjistu, but it didn't keep them from getting hurt every once in a while. Leo considered both himself and his brothers very lucky, that all of them were still alive, taking the many risks they did in their line of work. But he decided it was good to still have the scars left from past injuries, to remind him of the danger he put himself through and in that way always keeping him alert whenever engaging in a fight with someone.

It might sound a little self conceited, but after many victorious battles in a row, it tended to be very easy to get a little cocky, as if the risk had somehow gotten smaller. And it was in moments like those that his scars were good reminders of the true danger. No matter how good he and his brother had gotten, it was no reason for them to practice any less in the dojo. To handle themselves against their many enemies it was important that they kept their skills sharp - for survival.

Leo folded the corner of the open page in the book and dropped it on the couch. He decided he had enough scars to join his brothers in the kitchen, discussing past battles with them. Strong steps led him across the platform towards the open subcar, where Raphael's cocky voice echoed,

"N' what about this one?" he said, putting up his foot on the chair he sat on, pointing at a certain scar on his right calf. "Rememba'? Donnie had ta do _six_ stitches to close it up."

Donatello nodded across from his brother on the opposite side of the table, looking very familiar with the situation Raph was talking about. "Yeah, and it would've been a lot easier if you'd been unconscious. I mean, I know it hurts and everything, but c'mon. It's not _that_ bad."

Raph shot him a stern look, obviously not very amused by the comment. "I'd like ta see someone pull a needle through yer leg without _you_ complainin' about it."

"All the more reason for me to be careful," Don added, pinching on the corner of the table with his left hand. "If _I_ got hurt, there'd be no one to stitch me up." He quickly held up his right hand to his youngest brother, interrupting him before he even had a chance to say anything. "And _no_, Mikey," he said. "Just because you beat me once at 'Operation' that doesn't mean you're qualified enough to sew through my skin."

Michelangelo simply shut his mouth, wavering back and forth on his chair in defeat.

Leonardo stepped inside to join his brothers in the conversation, having thought of a nice, big gash on his left thigh. "You guys comparing scars?" he asked, acting like he'd just overheard them by accident.

"Yeah," Mikey confirmed, nodding enthusiastically. "Got anything to compete with?" he asked, challenging his older brother by wiggling his eye ridges.

_Do I?_ Leo's inner voice mocked inside his head, thinking of the victory as his already. But on the outside, a much calmer Leonardo replied, "I just might." He noticed his brother's changing unconvinced glances with each other as he walked up to stand next to them.

He confidently placed his foot on the cross-bar of Donatello's chair, flashing his two inch scar for all his siblings to see.

"Well, that's nuthin'!" Raph waved the oldest turtle off, shoving up his elbow in the leader's face. "Juz check this baby out," he bragged, displaying a crocked three inch scar to the others.

"Impressive," Mike commented, giving his brother thumbs up.

"Yeah," Raph naturally agreed, retracting his arm to himself. "Splinta' was so mad at me, he wouldn't let me go topside for weeks."

Mikey snickered, obviously recalling the situation his older brother was referring to. "Suites _you_ for knocking me off my skateboard," he chuckled.

"What?" Raph asked, a blank expression on his face. "When did I do that?" he wondered, sending his little brother an unconvinced look.

"You don't remember?" Mikey asked, a little upset over the fact that his older brother had gotten over the guilt so quickly. "When we were seven? You took me down one of the western tunnels to show me how all the '_cool_ turtles skated'," he explained, quoting a seven year-old Raphael.

Raph still had a blank look on his face, not having any memories of the incident.

"I still have the scar to prove it," Mike insisted, putting up his foot on the table for his brothers to see.

All three turtles leaned in closer, all of them looking slightly disgusted as they did so. After all, when it all came around it was still Michelangelo's foot. And who knew where it had been? But as they searched the green body part for the said scar, the three of them soon squinted their eyes, trying to detect anything scar-looking on the foot.

"Where?" Donatello asked, moving his face a little closer.

"You don't see it?" Mikey asked, sounding both shocked and offended. He instantly grabbed his foot to locate the scar himself, him too taking some time while searching for it. "It's right _there_," he finally said, pointing to a slim line by his ankle.

"That thing?" Raph questioned, squinting his eyes to be able to see it. "Looks like a papercut," he mocked, deciding he'd done enough staring on his little brother's foot the whole year... and any other to come.

"Oh, ha ha," Mike frowned, putting back his foot down on the floor. "Beats Donnie's 'fall from the bed' at least," he said, referring to a scar the three of them had discussed before the oldest turtle entered the competition.

"Hey!" Don defended himself, a little offended by the comment. "That one really hurt," he said, rubbing the back of his head where the scar resided. "Plus, head injures are way more dangerous than skateboard accidents. I mean, okay, I might not have a huge, big scar to show off with, but I'm sure you guys remember the concussion I had. I was in bed for _three_ days."

"Wait, wait a minute," Leo interrupted their bickering, earning his three brother's attention by holding up his hands. "Are you guys comparing boo-boos?"

"They're not 'boo-boos'," Mike insisted, protectively reaching for his left foot.

"But you're not talking about war wounds, are you?" Leo asked, his question met with three blank expressions.

"_War wounds_?" Raphael repeated, the first turtle to burst out laughing. "You call Don taking a dive from the top bunk a 'war wound'?" he mocked, high fiving Mike next to him.

"I guess not," Leo muttered, kicking himself for believing his brothers would even have such a conversation in the first place. He bitterly turned to leave, his siblings continuing with their childhood-scars competition behind him, as he went to finish reading the book he was foolish enough to leave.


End file.
